


some other nights

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Genre: Agender Azumane Asahi, Genderfluid Sugawara Koushi, M/M, Multi, Non-Binary Sugawara Koushi, Nonbinary Azumane Asahi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Sugawara Koushi, Other, Polyamory, Rating Varies By Chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-02-13 13:33:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 10,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: Short ficlets, usually cross-posted to Tumblr.18: Do you want me to leave? Ushijima/Kita19. We can't keep doing this, Ushijima/Sakusa20. Run away with me, Tetsuya/Jun21. Your turn, Ushijima/Kita22. Just like I promised, Ushijima/Iwaizumi
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Azumane Asahi/Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Azumane Asahi/Shirabu Kenjirou, Azumane Asahi/Sugawara Koushi, Azumane Asahi/Terushima Yuuji, Haiba Lev/Tsukishima Kei, Isashiki Jun/Yuuki Tetsuya, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kita Shinsuke/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 37
Kudos: 201





	1. tempo: bakt, t

Kei wakes up to a text from Keiji:

_ Living room. Now. Urgent. _

And this is strange for several reasons. The first is that Keiji is awake before he is on a Saturday, and Keiji hates being awake on Saturdays. The second is that he’s texted instead of just coming to get Kei and Tetsurou out of bed. Kei feels panic shoot through him: had something happened?

“Tetsurou, wake up,” he says, threading his fingers through Tetsurou’s hair and tugging just a little. Tetsurou groans.

“Later,” Tetsurou says, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I promise we’ll do it later, just let me sleep.”

“No, Tetsu, you gotta get up,” Kei says. “Keiji sent a weird text.”

Tetsurou lifts his head from the pillow, his eyes narrowed. “Weird text?”

“Come on.”

Kei rolls out of bed without waiting for Tetsurou to follow and pads out into the living room. Keiji is staring, transfixed, at something in the kitchen.

“Keiji, is everything--”

Keiji holds up a hand and points silently at the object of his interest.

Koutarou is dancing around the kitchen, his headphones turned loud enough that Kei can hear the music pouring from them. The blender is out on the counter and Koutarou is in a ratty, sleeveless shirt and leggings, so Kei can presume he’s just returned from the gym and is making himself his morning protein shake. He’s using a banana as a microphone.

“I’m a thick bitch, I need tempo,” he sings, and Kei looks at Keiji.

“Oh,” he says, and Keiji merely nods.

Tetsurou finally makes his way out into the kitchen, grumbling, “What’s so important that--”

Kei and Keiji point at Koutarou, and Tetsurou’s eyes follow their fingers. Koutarou chooses that moment to twerk, his hips gyrating, his ass shaking, and all three of them moan low in their throats. 

It goes on for another few minutes, Koutarou unwittingly putting on a show that leaves all three of his boyfriends breathless. He dances and flexes and spins around the kitchen, and when the song ends he blends his shake and finally realizes the others are watching him. He removes his headphones slowly.

“Good morning?” he questions.

Without speaking Tetsurou, Kei, and Keiji all move to surround him, Keiji burying his head in Koutarou’s chest, Kei in his back, and Tetsurou in his shoulder.

“I’m not opposed to this, as you know, but I am a little confused,” Koutarou confesses. “Are you all alright?”

“You killed us,” Kei says.

“With the dancing, and the twerking,” Tetsurou continues.

Keiji lifts his head. “Please take care of us, Koutarou.”

Koutarou laughs and spins so he can wrap his arms around all three of them in a hug. “If I’d known all it took to get you guys out of bed was a little dancing I would have done that a long time ago.”


	2. untitled: bakt, t

"Keiji!" Bokuto calls as he enters their apartment. Kuroo and Tsukki aren't due home for a few hours yet, but Keiji had the day off. 

Keiji appears from their bedroom, a tissue shoved into his nostril, a blanket falling halfway off his shoulders, looking closer to asleep than awake. "Stay back, Koutarou," he says, except it comes out sounding like "Day bag, Goutarou."

"Baby!" Bokuto says, rushing forward to try to hold Akaashi, but Akaashi side steps him, moving surprisingly quickly for someone who's clearly so sick. Bokuto frowns. "What happened?"

"I'm sick," Akaashi explains, and Bokuto catches the eye roll he'd normally conceal. His frown deepens, and he runs a hand through Akaashi's hair.

"Let's get you to the doctor, then," Bokuto says, looking down into Akaashi's face.

"Went," Akaashi answers, his tone weary. He turns and heads back to the bedroom, and Bokuto follows after him. "Bronchitis."

"Aw, no." He remembers Akaashi mentioning a tickle in his throat yesterday but hadn't thought much of it at the time. "Have you had tea?"

"Too tired to make it," Akaashi says. He curls up into a ball in the bed. Bokuto leans down and kisses the side of his head. 

"I've got it. Just rest, love." 

Bokuto pads back out into the kitchen and fishes the tea leaves out of the jar. He hums quietly to himself as he fixes it, adding half a spoon of honey the way his partner likes it, and then returns to the bedroom, the steaming mug held carefully in his hands.

Akaashi is fully asleep when he returns, so Bokuto sets the mug aside and lays beside him, carefully pulling him into his arms.

"Kou," Akaashi mumbles. "You're gonna get sick, too."

"I have the best immune system in this whole polycule," Bokuto says, quiet but with confidence. "I definitely won't get sick."

"I will not take care of you when you do."

"I won't. And anyway, I love you."

He goes in for a kiss, but Akaashi shoves his face away with his hand. "Koutarou, stop that."

"Loving you? No way!"

"Shhh, loud. Supposed to rest."

Bokuto kisses his forehead. "Then rest."

"Koutarou," Akaashi says with exasperation. "Stop kissing me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, either." Bokuto shakes his head. "And you should drink some tea while you're awake."

"Ugh." He lets Bokuto support him in the process of sitting up and taking a few sips of the now cooling tea, then settles against Bokuto's chest. "I suppose if you're bound and determined to be sick I will at least use you as a pillow."

"I'm glad you've seen some sense," Bokuto says.

"I love your singing voice," Akaashi mumbles. "And your talking voice. And you're so comfy."

Bokuto chuckles. "Rest, Keiji. I love you."

"Love you," Akaashi answers, drooping further into Bokuto. "Love you so much."

\---

Bokuto wakes later to a kiss pressed to his forehead. His eyes drift open to find Tsukki above him.

"Kei!" he whispers. He goes for a kiss but Tsukki slides away.

"I'm not getting sick," he answers, shaking his head. "Someone has to take care of you two."

"I'm not gonna get sick," Bokuto says. "I have the strongest immune system in this--"

He cuts himself off with a cough. "--in this polycule."

"Mmhmm," says Tsukki. "I'm getting you a cup of tea now."


	3. hips: asadaisuga, m

The first part of Suga Asahi ever noticed was their eyes.

Wide, bright, open, trusting. Breathtaking. Asahi got caught up in them the first time Suga ever looked him in the eyes, and he’s been caught there ever since.

The second part of Suga Asahi noticed was their hands.

Smaller, softer than his own. Where his own hands are generally flat on the court to accommodate spiking the ball, Suga’s are curved, their fingers arched elegantly to set it up for him. The first time Suga had grabbed Asahi’s hand they’d also grabbed his heart, and they never let go.

The list of things Asahi loves about Suga grows every day, even after all these years. Their mouth, inclined both to tease and to encourage, to whisper filth into his ear just as readily as love. Their arms, strong enough to catch him when he’s falling, to hold him together when his world feels like it’s falling apart. Their heart, passionate and fiery and full of warmth.

At the moment, though, his attention is none of those places.

His attention is on their hips.

Sometime earlier they’d dressed in a crop top and a high-waisted short skirt that clung to every part of them, boots up to their knees, makeup accentuating the sharp lines of their jaw, the brown of their eyes drawn out by gold splashed across their lids. They’d grabbed Asahi and Daichi by the hand and dragged them out, into the night, into a dark club, lit just well enough that Asahi can see where Daichi and Suga grind against each other on the dance floor. If his grip on his drink gets any tighter he fears he may break the glass, but he can’t help it. Daichi’s hands grip Suga’s ass, slip up past the loose fabric of their shirt, drag down the line of their chest. Suga moves in time with the music, and this is what Asahi can’t get enough of (he can’t get enough of any of it, completely intoxicated with the way his partners can’t get enough of each other): their hips are sinful, rolling and swaying and looking absolutely incredible under the fabric of their skirt. When Asahi closes his eyes, he imagines himself peeling away the skin-tight clothing, nails digging into their hips, not letting go until there’s bruises, evidence that he’s been there. He swallows hard and opens his eyes again, finding Suga and Daichi just in front of him. Daichi’s pupils are blown wide, and Asahi knows instantly that his thoughts are in the same place as Asahi’s. Suga leans over Asahi, hands pressed to the bar on either side of him, lips close enough that Asahi could lean up and capture them with his own.

“If you think it’s good to watch,” Suga purrs, and their eyes trail slowly down to the bulge in his pants, lingering there before looking back up at him knowingly, “just imagine how good it would be to actually join us.”

Behind them, Daichi nods, biting his lip. Up close Asahi can see where Suga’s lipstick is smeared against Daichi’s neck and mouth, and another rush of desire burns through him.

Asahi downs the rest of his drink and sets the glass on the bar. “Lead the way,” he says, and Suga grins and grabs him by the hand.


	4. what's in a name: iwaoi, t

"I've been thinking, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi grunts into Oikawa's neck. "Don't hurt yourself, Trashkawa."

"That's exactly what I've been thinking about!" He presses a kiss to the top of his boyfriend's head. "Now that we're dating, don't you think you should call me something nicer?"

"Not a chance," mumbles Iwaizumi. "Also I should remind you we have to be up early for practice tomorrow so maybe you should shut up so I can sleep."

"I was thinking something like Cutiekawa," Oikawa continues. He runs his hand absentmindedly up and down Iwaizumi's back. "Maybe Sexykawa. Damn, you look so good-kawa--"

"Tooru," Iwaizumi says, and his boyfriend falls silent. "Go to sleep."

He kisses Oikawa hard on the mouth before turning over. Oikawa curls around his back and falls asleep with the thought of his name on Iwaizumi's lips.


	5. weathering the storm: iwaoi, g

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru calls, settling onto the couch. He drapes his Suga-knitted blanket over his legs and takes his cup of tea in both hands. “Come sit with me and watch the rain!”

Hajime grunts noncommittally, poring over paperwork brought home from the office. Tooru frowns in his direction even though he’s not looking.

“Shouldn’t you have done that at work?” he asks.

“We got busy today,” Hajime sighs. “I’ll be done soon.”

“Alright,” Tooru agrees. He looks out the window and snuggles deeper into the blanket. It’s orange and black because of who Suga is as a person, but they’d made it with incredibly soft yarn, so the hideous color scheme can be overlooked. He takes a sip of tea, pondering how Suga and their partners are doing, and is just considering picking up the phone to send them a text when a loud crack of thunder startles him out of his thoughts.

“Iwa,” he says quietly, looking over to his husband. “Come join me?”

“Nearly done,” Hajime says tersely, his grip on his pen tighter than before.    
Tooru sets his cup on the coffee table and takes the blanket with him, standing behind Hajime, pressing his nose into Hajime’s neck and letting the blanket fall around both of them. “Hajime,” he rumbles. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Hajime sets his pen down altogether and turns to accept Tooru into his arms. “I know, Tooru,” he says, and Tooru feels the rumble of it where their chests are now pressed together. 

“I know you’re almost done,” Tooru whispers, “but what if it waited just a little bit to finish and you came and sat with me?”

“So needy, Tooru,” Hajime mumbles, but he stands and lets Tooru pull him over to the couch. Tooru ends up with Hajime pressed against him, Hajime’s knees curled up into himself, one arm around Tooru’s neck, the other hand flat against his chest. His head rests against Tooru’s shoulder. Hajime wraps the blanket around both of them the best he can, and Tooru drapes one arm around Hajime’s waist. He brushes his lips across Hajime’s forehead.

“I’m very needy,” he says quietly. The rattle of thunder rattles them both, and Tooru takes a deep breath and pulls Hajime a little closer. “I won’t be able to handle this storm at all without you, I’m afraid.”

“Hmmph.” Hajime’s eyes fall closed. “I suppose I can sit it out with you, then.”

Tooru hums his approval and lets his own eyes close, as well. “Thank you, Hajime. I love you.”


	6. who could say no: kurodai, t

Daichi gives another grumpy glance at the boy hogging the only functional printer in the library. He’s been at it for twenty minutes now, printing and printing and printing, continuously feeding the machine more coins with a dead look on his face. Daichi would sympathize except he also needs the printer and it’s nearly two in the morning and he’s exhausted.

“Listen,” he sighs, approaching the boy. “I hate to be a nudge, but are you gonna be done any time soon?”

The boy looks up at him and blinks. “What?”

“With the printer,” Daichi clarifies, although he didn’t think it needed clarification. “Are you almost done with the printer?”

The boy looks at his computer. “No,” he says, and then he sighs heavily. “If you need it, you can have it. I’m gonna be up anyway.”

Daichi’s stomach twists. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” He feeds the printer another coin. Daichi wonders if his messy hair is the result of sleep deprivation or if he always looks like that. He wonders if his hair being less ridiculous would make him any less ridiculously attractive. “Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way. I’m a physics major and this class is kicking my entire ass.”

“Sawamura Daichi,” Daichi says, offering him a hand. He takes it weakly. “Business.”

“You’d think for the amount of money they charge us to be here they could have more than one printer,” Kuroo says, and Daichi huffs a laugh.

“You’d think,” he agrees. “What year are you?”

“Third,” Kuroo says. “And holy fuck, I cannot wait to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Daichi says. “If it weren’t for volleyball I don’t know if I could have stuck it out.”

“You play volleyball?” Kuroo asks. “What position?”

“Wing spiker,” Daichi answers. “Do you play?”

“I was a middle blocker in high school,” Kuroo answers. “That’s rad. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

Daichi blushes, for some reason. “I’m not the ace or anything.”

“That’s that Hinata kid, right?” Kuroo shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anyone jump like that.”

“He’s pretty amazing,” Daichi admits. “So you come to the games?”

“When I can,” Kuroo says. “Which isn’t often, lately.” He hefts his paper in the air with an eye roll. 

“But you’re about done, I take it, based on the length of this thing.” Daichi taps the printer twice. “You’re putting this old girl through her paces.”

“She’ll be out of ink by the time you get to her,” Kuroo answers. “Might as well go to bed now, Sawamura.”

“Daichi,” Daichi corrects automatically, and then blushes again. “I usually just go by Daichi.”

Kuroo offers him a smile, and it’s a little blinding. “Daichi, then.”

Daichi looks at his watch. It’s past two, now, and he has a class at eight. “I’m torn, Kuroo,” he admits, looking up at him.

Kuroo cocks an eyebrow. “At what, Daichi?”

“I think you’re right,” he says. “I probably should go to bed. I have class at eight.”

“But?” Kuroo prompts.

Daichi takes a deep breath. “But I’m really enjoying talking to you, and I’d like to do it some more.”

Kuroo offers him a smirk. “If you’re asking me on a date, Daichi, just do it.”

Daichi grins. “Do you want to go on a date, Kuroo?”

“I do, in fact,” Kuroo says. “But I am also nearly done with the printer, so you could stay and talk, now, too. I’ll even stay with you while you print, just to thank you.”

Daichi pulls up a chair and takes a seat in it, crossing one leg over the other and looking up at Kuroo. “Well, who could say no to that?”


	7. appeal: oisuga, g

Oikawa is quietly pining.

Quietly is maybe not the right word. In the presence of Iwa-chan, or Mattsun, or Makki, his pining is anything but quiet. His pining is loud and annoying and—

“Seriously, Oikawa, shut the hell up,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa frowns and turns to look at him. “Ever since Suga entered the game you haven’t stopped talking about them. You’re not even talking about the game at this point. We get it, dude, you love them, would you go tell them already?”

Oikawa pushes his glasses up his nose and frowns at Iwaizumi. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Iwaizumi leans over and flicks his nose. “You’re an idiot.”

Oikawa doesn’t reply, caught up in the way Suga’s shirt has come untucked on one side and is exposing a sliver of skin at their hip. They set it to Hinata, who slaps it down for a kill, and then Suga’s tucking their shirt back and smiling broadly and ruffling Hinata’s hair and a part of Oikawa thinks  _ gods, I wish that were me _ and is promptly incredibly embarrassed.

“Okay, so I do know what you’re talking about,” Oikawa admits. 

Iwaizumi looks unimpressed when Oikawa finally manages to snatch his eyes away from Suga to look at him. 

“They’re pretty,” Oikawa says helplessly, crossing his arms and feeling defensive. “Honestly, Iwa-chan, if you can’t even recognize a beautiful person when you see one.”

“All I have to do is look in the mirror,” Iwaizumi deadpans, and Oikawa’s jaw drops and then arranges itself into a huge smile.

“Why, Iwa-chan! That was such a me comment! I must be rubbing off on you!”

“Wish you wouldn’t,” grumbles Iwaizumi, turning his attention back to the game. Oikawa follows suit.

Below them Suga is offering the captain a high five as they head for a time out, and there’s something in the way it lingers that reminds Oikawa he doesn’t have a chance. He frowns and sets his elbows on his knees, watching the bob of Suga’s throat as they take a long drink of water. Their tallest player comes over and pats Suga’s shoulder, offering them congratulations. Suga’s arm slips around his waist.

Oikawa can’t help but look at Iwaizumi, who doesn’t return his gaze but must feel Oikawa’s eyes on him, because he mumbles, “yeah, I see it.”

Oikawa looks at Suga again. It’s not like he doesn’t understand the appeal.

He pushes his glasses up his nose again and tries to shake off the stupid feelings that Suga gives him.


	8. about damn time: kurodai, t

“You know I’m your type, right?”

Kuroo looks over at Daichi in the passenger’s seat. He’s got aviators slung low down on his nose and his hands rest behind his head. Kuroo’s not even sure his eyes are open. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Sa’amura?” Kuroo asks.

Daichi laughs low and turns his head toward Kuroo. If his eyes weren’t open before, they’re open now, and staring directly into Kuroo’s heart. Kuroo shudders under the attention. 

“Means we’ve been fucking around with our feelings for just long enough for it to be really bothering me.” Daichi pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head. “Pull over, would you? Suga will want a picture of this sunset.”

Kuroo looks at Daichi for another moment before complying, pulling onto the side of the road. Daichi opens his door and stretches his arms above his head, his tank top riding up and revealing the lower portion of his abs. Kuroo gets out and places his arms one over the other on the roof of his beat up car and doesn’t try to hide the way he’s staring at Daichi. Daichi’s pulled his phone out of his pocket and is attempting a picture of the sunset. Kuroo stays quiet until Daichi pockets his phone again and mirrors Kuroo’s position.

“I’m curious to know what you think my type is,” Kuroo says. 

One half of Daichi’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Someone who can take you head on. Someone you can argue with. Someone who’ll put up with your bullshit tendencies and your incredibly unhealthy sleep schedule.”

“My sleep schedule is fine,” argues Kuroo automatically, and Daichi shakes his head.

“Not the point.” Daichi comes around and sits on the hood, and Kuroo follows his lead, their shoulders and thighs brushing together. “I’m saying, I know what you want, and I know that’s me.”

Kuroo swallows. “You sure that’s not just you being big in the britches?”

Daichi turns his head and looks at Kuroo through lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly. “Why don’t you tell me?” Daichi asks, and he moves forward enough so that his lips are against Kuroo’s own.

Daichi’s mouth is slightly sticky from the soda he’d consumed earlier, too sweet from the gobs of candy they’ve both been shoving down their throats all day because they’re finally off volleyball conditioning diets, at least for a week. But his hands find Kuroo’s waist and rest there lightly, and he makes a content noise in the back of his throat that Kuroo will be dreaming about for weeks to come. Kuroo sighs and relaxes into his touch, and he can feel the way Daichi smiles against his skin.

“Am I wrong?” Daichi asks, the words spoken with shared breath.

Kuroo kisses him again, pulling Daichi towards himself with one hand on the back of his head. Daichi’s tongue slips from between his lips and slides along Kuroo’s, and Kuroo parts his mouth, inviting him closer. Daichi’s grip on his waist tightens, and Kuroo suddenly remembers they’re sitting on his car on the side of the road and has to pull away. Even then they touch, Daichi’s hands on Kuroo’s thighs, Kuroo’s hands on Daichi’s neck, their noses still tip-to-tip.

“You’re not wrong,” Kuroo admits. He closes his eyes. “You are, in fact, entirely correct.”

“About damn time you said so,” Daichi says. “How would you feel about one bed tonight instead of two?”

Kuroo smiles. “Really good, Daichi. I’d feel really good about it.”


	9. and it was all yellow: daisuga, g

“Do you believe in magic?”

“In a young girl’s heart?” Daichi questions, turning his head to Suga. Suga rolls their eyes.

“I’m serious, Dai.”

Daichi grins. “You assume I’m not being serious.”

Suga sighs and turns toward him. The grass beneath their skin is itchy, but the dandelions are a vibrant yellow, and they catch their eye for a few moments. They’re pretty, even if soon they’ll be blown away.

“Suga?” Daichi prompts. “You were saying?”

Suga shakes their head. “Sorry. I was asking for real. Do you believe in magic?”

Daichi turns on his side, pillows his head with his hand. His free hand comes to rest near Suga’s. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Suga focuses on a dandelion again. They pluck it from the ground and tuck it behind Daichi’s ear, and smile at Daichi’s confused look. “I mean, I think I do.”

“So confident,” Daichi teases. When Suga’s hand comes back from placing the flower, their fingers brush up against Daichi’s. Neither of them move. “What’s making you ask, anyway?”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” Suga admits.

Daichi hums, a low noise in his throat. Suga wants to place their fingers there, to feel the noise he makes, and they don’t know where the feeling comes from. “What are you thinking about?”

Suga swallows and rests on their back again. “You, I guess.”

“You’ve been thinking about me?” Daichi sounds a little surprised, but not very. Like maybe he knew but didn’t expect Suga to say anything.

Suga studies the clouds and specifically doesn’t study the dark brown of Daichi’s eyes. “Yes. I’ve just been wondering.”

Daichi sits up altogether and criss crosses his legs, his hip bumping against Suga’s thigh. He peers down into Suga’s face. “What are you wondering?”

Suga worries at their bottom lip. If they say these next words, everything between them and Daichi will change. They take a deep breath and steel their nerves, because they have to. They have to say this. 

“I was wondering if you think about kissing me as much as I think about kissing you.”

Daichi cocks his head to one side, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I guess that depends on how much you think about kissing me, Suga.”

Suga feels themself shaking and continues anyway. “Pretty often, to be honest.”

Daichi’s eyes flicker down to Suga’s lips, then back to their eyes. “Then I’d say I think about it at least as much as you do.”

Suga lets the words sink in, and then they feel a smile grow slowly across their face. “Should we do something about it?”

Daichi leans down and their noses smack together. “Maybe we should.”

Suga props up on their elbows to close the gap between them, and when they close their eyes as their lips touch they see yellow burst behind their lids, the yellow of the sun and the dandelions and the color of their friendship over the years, warm and bright and easy. It’s a slow kiss, quiet and hopeful, like the promise of everything they’ve shared, the promise of things to come. When they break apart Daichi’s smiling, and Suga reaches up to touch his face. Their fingers skim the stem of the dandelion.

“How did it compare?” Daichi asks. “To what you’d thought about?”

Suga’s lips curve upward. “It was a lot better than I could have imagined.”


	10. mistakes: levtsukki, e

Tsukishima regrets every decision that led him to this particular bed.

(He regrets his choice of university, he regrets his choice of friends, he regrets drinking that second glass of vodka—)

He glances over at his bedmate. Lev’s wearing nothing but a self-satisfied smile. His lips are swollen and shining; his chest and neck are covered in faintly purple bruises, shaped like Tsukishima’s mouth and fingers. His cock, now soft, is still glistening wet from Tsukishima’s mouth. He looks over at Tsukishima, and his smile becomes more mischievous.

“Like what you see?” he taunts, and Tsukishima scowls.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Tsukishima says. He sits up and shoves his glasses onto his nose. 

Lev’s lips don’t lose their curvature. “You had a good time. Don’t lie, Tsukki.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima replies automatically. He thinks of the others who call him that name: Yamaguchi, Kuroo, Bokuto. Lev’s name has no right to be on that list. Tsukishima stands and makes a scene of replacing his boxers, sliding them on dramatically and snapping the waistband.

“Aw, come on,” Lev says, pleading. “Don’t go yet.”

Tsukishima turns back to him with a glare. “This was a mistake.”

Lev shrugs nonchalantly. “Doesn’t have to be one that’s over yet. The night is young, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima rakes down Lev’s body with his eyes, and his mouth waters. Even soft Lev’s impressive, thick and long and Tsukishima hasn’t gotten to ride him yet but if the opportunity is presenting itself—

“You gonna be quieter this time?” Tsukishima asks, his thumbs slipping into the waistband of his boxers, hovering, waiting for Lev’s response.

Lev props himself up on his elbows. “I’d say probably not unless you shut me up.”

Tsukishima slips his underwear back down over his hips and crawls over to Lev. He takes one hand and scratches down Lev’s chest, watching Lev’s eyes widen and his mouth part. 

“I think you know I’m more than capable of that,” Tsukishima answers, and he lowers his mouth and bites down on Lev’s bottom lip. 

There are more mistakes to be made tonight, and Tsukishima intends to make them all. 


	11. control: bokuaka, e

Akaashi glances down at the remote in his hand, and with a small smile to himself, turns it on.

Across the bed from him, Bokuto writhes as the plug in his ass begins to vibrate again. Akaashi bites his lip and watches the scene play out. Bokuto is bound shoulder to feet in sleek black rope; his cock lays hard and red against his stomach. Akaashi hasn’t touched him at all in the hour he’s been bound, and he’s already come twice, the evidence of it a sticky mess between his legs and on the bed. He’s starting to look desperate, the way Akaashi really likes, as Akaashi turns up the intensity on the vibrator.

“Keiji,” Bokuto pants, his eyes flashing up to where Akaashi lounges casually across the foot of the bed. “Keiji, please.”

Akaashi lifts a lazy eyebrow at him. “Please what, Koutarou?”

Bokuto bites his lip. “Please. I need you.”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi mumbles. “You’ll have to be more specific than that if you want me.”

“I do,” Bokuto whines, and Akaashi has to fight against the instinct to go to him then and there. “I do want you, Keiji, please touch me.”

Akaashi nods. “I know, love. I know you want me. Tell me how you want me.”

“I don’t care,” Bokuto manages. Akaashi turns the vibrations up another notch, and Bokuto shouts and twitches. “Keiji!”

Akaashi does move across the bed now and places a soft kiss against Bokuto’s sweaty cheek. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers into Bokuto’s skin. “You’re doing so well.”

Bokuto’s eyes flash with need at the praise. “Keiji,” he croaks.

“Tell me how you want me,” Akaashi repeats, steady and sure, and Bokuto takes a breath. 

“Hands,” Bokuto begs, his voice still rasping. “Touch me with your hands, please.”

“Good job, sweetheart,” Akaashi murmurs. He straddles Bokuto’s waist and sits carefully atop him, lining himself up so he can take both of them in his hands. Bokuto shouts again and Akaashi silences him with his mouth, licking his way past Bokuto’s lips. He touches them both in long, even strokes, Bokuto keening in his throat at the friction but still needing more. Akaashi doesn’t give him what he needs, not yet. He reaches over and turns the plug up to its highest setting, and Bokuto cries out. Akaashi bites down on his bottom lip, bites his neck, bites his chest, leaving bruises that mar his skin purple and blue. He speeds up his hand, finally giving in to his own need and to Bokuto’s, and it’s not long before Bokuto is spilling a third time, Akaashi’s name falling from his lips like a prayer, pushing Akaashi over himself.

Bokuto gets that look in his eyes that tells Akaashi he’s done for the night, so he quickly reaches over and turns off the plug. He unties Bokuto and presses soft kisses to all the places where the rope left marks on his skin. Bokuto stretches out in the bed when he’s fully untied, and Akaashi presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Drink some water while I’m gone.”

Akaashi pads into the bathroom and retrieves a washcloth. Bokuto’s sitting up when he comes back, glass in hand, the plug on a tissue on the bedside table, and he’s got that dopey, loved-up look on his face that makes Akaashi’s insides squirm. He kisses the side of Bokuto’s mouth and wipes off the cum from his legs and stomach. When he’s clean Akaashi sits in his lap and rubs at his shoulders, releasing the leftover tension.

“What do you think of your new toy?” Akaashi murmurs after a while, and Bokuto looks up at him with a smile.

“We’ll definitely keep that one,” he says, and Akaashi presses their lips together again.


	12. nervous: asateru, g

“Come on, go on a date with me.”

Asahi looks up from the coffee machine with a grimace. “If you’ve asked me every day all week and I’ve said no every time so far, what makes you think today is different?”

Terushima grins. “Can’t hurt to ask again.”

“It’s still a no.”

“Here’s the thing, Azumane,” Terushima says, leaning over the counter. “I can tell that you’re into me.”

“You seem very confident in that assessment.”

“You blush when I walk in the door every morning,” Terushima observes, and on cue Asahi blushes some more. “You always take the time to make my coffee yourself, even if you’re slammed with customers. You always indulge me in conversation. You’re not being subtle.”

He’s right, but he shouldn’t say it. Asahi slides his coffee across to him. “You make me nervous, Terushima.”

“From what I’ve gathered, everything makes you nervous, Azumane,” Terushima says, winking. He takes his coffee in his hand. “I’d be more surprised if I were the exception.”

Asahi doesn’t indulge him with a response to that, instead turning to wipe the excess foam off the machine.

“Is it the tongue ring?” Terushima questions. “The haircut? The tattoos?”

Asahi looks back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you have a job that you’re going to be late to?”

Terushima shrugs. “When you’re the owner, you’re never really late.”

“I disagree, but alright,” Asahi says. The door opens, and another customer walks in. Asahi smiles at Terushima. “Duty calls. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Is that a yes?” Terushima asks, and Asahi shakes his head as he goes to serve the next customer. 


	13. not everyone is going to hurt you: asadaisuga, t

Asahi pulls the blanket tighter around themself as Suga settles into the bed beside them. Daichi’s still in the kitchen retrieving their snacks; Suga had been setting up her laptop so they could watch movies comfortably. Suga wraps her arm around Asahi’s waist.

“What are you feeling tonight?” she asks softly. Asahi shrugs, and a tear falls unbidden from their eyes. Suga tugs them tighter, and their head falls into the space between her neck and shoulder. They turn in and breathe deep against her chest.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” they mumble, and Suga sighs. “I thought he loved me.”

“We all did,” Daichi says, entering the room. His arms are laiden with a bag of popcorn, three bags of chips, and a huge tub of ice cream. In his hand he grasps three spoons. He sets the snacks down at the end of the bed before squeezing in on Asahi’s other side and rubbing their back gently. “We didn’t see the warning signs, Asa. We’re sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Asahi groans. They lift their face from Suga and turn to Daichi. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ask me to marry you and then disappear three months later. You didn’t take everything when you left.”

Daichi’s eyes flicker to Suga, a silent plea for help; Asahi knows Daichi’s angry, so angry, and that this isn’t helping. They reach out from the blanket and grab the tub of ice cream and the spoons. The tub sits on their lap as the three of them each reach in and take a spoonful. Asahi chews their cookie dough in silence, then shoves the spoon into the tub with a sigh.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on,” they whisper. They look at Daichi, and then at Suga. “I don’t know how to trust everyone again.”

Suga winds her hand into Asahi’s. “Not everyone is going to hurt you, love.”

“And you know you can always trust us,” Daichi adds, setting his hand on top of both of theirs.

Asahi’s eyes fall shut and they will themself not to shake. “Yeah,” they agree. “I know I can trust you.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Asahi loves them, more than they know, and they love him, and for right now that’s enough. 

Suga grabs Asahi’s spoons with her free hand and shovels out some more ice cream, then shoves it into Asahi’s mouth, and their laughter breaks the tension hanging over them.


	14. not everyone is going to hurt you: shiragoshi, t

Only under threat of torture would Shirabu Kenjirou admit that he's watched Goshiki Tsutomu's routine so many times he's got it memorized.

He could probably skate the damn thing himself, if he were as talented as Goshiki. The youngest member of their team and a future star in the making, Goshiki looks to be following in Ushijima's footsteps as Japan's next ace skater. He's also the only person (other than Tendou, obviously) who can charm a genuine smile out of the infamously straight-laced Ushijima. Kenjirou kind of hates him for it. 

Goshiki gets into position in the center of the ice, his head turned down and his arms above his head. Kenjirou both sees and feels the deep breath he takes in the moment before the music starts.

"Kenjirouuuuu," sings a voice, startling Kenjirou into jumping just as the music begins. 

The last thing Kenjirou needs right now is to pay Tendou the attention he so desperately wants. He keeps his eyes trained on Goshiki.

"What do you want, Tendou?" he deadpans.

Tendou takes up a position beside him, their shoulders pressed together. "Talented, isn't he?" Tendou says.

Kenjirou grunts an affirmation as Goshiki pulls off his first jump.

"Certainly has a bright future," Tendou continues. Kenjirou's eyes narrow.

"So they say," he agrees, hoping to get Tendou to leave him alone.

"And so handsome, of course."

Kenjirou rolls his eyes. "Leave me alone, Tendou."

"The whole team knows you've been watching him, Kenjirou," Tendou says. His tone is more serious now that he's gotten to his point. "We all know you like him."

"I don't like him."

"I think the only reason our darling Tsuu-chan hasn't noticed is because he's so focused on skating."

Kenjirou grumbles, a low noise in his throat. "And they sent you to talk to me about it?"

"Hmm, I volunteered," Tendou answers. 

"Hmmph." Goshiki goes into the axel, which he lands perfectly. Kenjirou lets out the breath he holds in that section every time. "So you came to tell me to back off?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," Tendou says. Out of the corner of his eye, Kenjirou can see him waggling his eyebrows. "I came to tell you to make a move."

Kenjirou takes his eyes off Goshiki for the first time to look at Tendou. "Absolutely not."

"You have more of a chance than you think, you know," Tendou sing-songs as Kenjirou turns back to look at the ice. "Semi says Goshiki's been talking about you, too."

Kenjirou's heart pounds a little harder in his chest, but he shakes his head. "I'm not doing this. I'm not doing anything. I'm watching a potential rival. That's all."

Tendou sighs. His next words are spoken softly, delicately. "Not everyone is going to hurt you, Kenjirou. Not everyone is Oikawa."

When Kenjirou next blinks, his eyes stay shut, and the scene plays out in front of him. Oikawa's false promises, the way he led Kenjirou along only to stab him in the back. Kenjirou bites his lip and bares his teeth.

"You think I don't fucking know that," he growls at Tendou. 

Tendou slaps Kenjirou on the back, a little too hard to be comfortable. Goshiki's routine ends, and Kenjirou realizes he needs to be anywhere but here right now. 

"I've got to go get my skates on," he mumbles, turning harshly away from Goshiki and whatever feelings might arise in his chest. He stalks in the direction of the locker room, and Tendou follows after him.

On the ice, Goshiki stares in the direction of their retreating backs and pines.


	15. please look at me: ushiten, g

Ushijima’s form is flawless, as always. He lands his triple axel with seemingly no effort, and the rest of the team bursts into cheers that don’t seem to faze him at all, as if he simply can’t hear them. Satori stays quiet, as he usually does.

Once upon a time, Satori may have been jealous. In fact, when he first came to Shiratorizawa, he was. It was hard not to be. Ushijima has everything Satori once wanted: he’s physically attractive, a naturally talented skater, and everyone either respects or fears him, or some combination therein. But there was something about Ushijima that drew Satori in, drew him closer, and where once jealousy burned in his heart now burns a different kind of fire entirely.

Ushijima’s routine ends, and he skates over toward the waiting team. The coaches’ only comments are, as usual, about his expression. They say they can’t see his passion, his love, his fire. And this is something Satori has always thought was strange, because when he watches Ushijima skate, those are the only things he can see. The way his lips twitch when he lands a jump, the way his eyes close altogether when he’s in a spin. Passion is written all over his entire performance, but it’s like only Satori can see it.

_ Please look at me _ , he thinks in Ushijima’s direction as the other team members surround him, loudly congratulating him. Satori hangs back; and Ushijima raises his head over the others and meets Satori’s eyes. Satori offers him a smile.

“Please excuse me,” Ushijima says, and the sea of teammates parts as Ushijima heads for Satori. The coach calls for Semi to take the ice, and the others take their seats again. Ushijima and Satori stand behind them, and Satori looks up into Ushijima’s eyes.

“Beautiful as always, Wakatoshi-kun,” Satori murmurs, and Ushijima nods. His eyes flash bright as he looks at Satori.

“Thank you,” he answers. His eyes leave Satori’s; he finds Semi on the ice and focuses on him. “It surprised me.”

“That you skated well?” Satori asks.

Semi’s music starts, and Ushijima lowers his voice. “That I didn’t hear your voice louder than the rest.”

“But you heard me anyway,” Satori observes. 

Ushijima hums low in his throat. “Yes, I did.”

Satori’s heart pounds against his ribcage. He takes a step closer to Ushijima; their shoulders and hands brush. Ushijima’s concentration breaks for half a second; Satori can see it in the way he blinks twice instead of just once. Satori smiles to himself.

“Then that’s all that matters, hm?”


	16. go with me: asasuga, g

Asahi is a known coward, and they have no idea how they got themself into this situation. 

Actually, they know exactly how they got themself into this situation, and she’s currently attempting to tug Asahi closer to the house. The house that is clearly marked “no trespassing” and “keep out.”

“Suga,” Asahi begins, wariness in their voice. “Suga, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Suga turns around, unimpressed. “You’ve said that about twenty times already,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and pops her hip out to the side. “Come on, my contact says there’s a spirit here who needs help. I want to help.”

“I know you do,” Asahi says. Their stomach flips. Before they’d met Suga, they weren’t even sure they believed in ghosts. Now they’re certain of their existence, and also terrified. “And I want you to be able to help. It’s just…” They trail off, pushing the sleeves of their sweater up. They frown at Suga and hope she understands.

“You know I’d normally bring Daichi, but he’s busy studying for finals. At least one of us has to have a job, yeah?”

Asahi frowns. “I have a job.”

“Which you’re going to give up as soon as your novel gets finished,” Suga says. She always makes it sound so much more certain than Asahi feels about it. “We need a big strong man to hold down the fort, so to speak.”

Asahi’s lips purse. “I object to all of that.”

Suga laughs and wraps her arms around Asahi’s waist. “I’m joking, my love. Anyway, Daichi isn’t available until the weekend at the earliest and this spirit needs my help now. I just need you to back me up, alright?”

Asahi’s right sleeve falls down; the fabric is stretched from the amount of times they’ve fussed with it. “What about Bokuto?”

“I love Bokuto very much, but he’s too noisy to bring on a trip like this.”

“Kuroo?”

“Too cynical.”

“Terushima?”

“We’re trying to help the ghost, not piss it off.”

Asahi sighs and pinches the bridge of their nose. “I just don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

Suga gently tugs Asahi’s hand away from their face and laces their fingers together. “I promise I’ll keep you safe, Asahi. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Asahi inhales deeply, and Suga stands on her tiptoes to kiss their nose. It helps ground them, to feel connected to their partner. It makes it feel like everything might be okay. Suga presses her lips against theirs, and Asahi finally stops shaking.

“Go with me?” Suga murmurs, and Asahi nods, slowly.

“As long as you hold my hand.”

Suga smiles brilliantly. “I wouldn’t dream of letting go.”


	17. a losing battle: asashira, t

“So you’re a pediatrician now?”

Asahi spins on his heel and looks down to find a familiar face in front of him.

“Shirabu,” he murmurs, and Shirabu’s face lights up in a grin that’s a little short of feral.

“Are we not on given name basis anymore, Asahi?” he asks. “I know it’s been a while, but I didn’t think it had been that long.”

Asahi closes his eyes and remembers the feeling of Shirabu’s skin against his own in the dark. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he muses. “You’re in the surgery ward, I see. How did you know I’m a pediatrician, anyway?”

At that moment, a page comes over the PA system.  _ Paging Dr. Azumane to the children’s ward. Dr. Azumane to the children’s ward. _

“Right,” says Asahi, flustered. He begins moving again. “If you’ll excuse me--”

“I was hoping you’d want to catch up,” Shirabu says, following after him, keeping pace with him even though his legs are much shorter. “Maybe get a coffee or something.”

“I don’t...know if that’s a good idea,” Asahi says. He knows he’s fighting a losing battle; he wasn’t ever able to say no to Shirabu once he got an idea in his head.

Shirabu grabs him by the arm and yanks him into an empty hallway. He has to stand up on his tiptoes to pull Asahi down into a kiss, and it tastes the way it always did: the sweet thrill of doing something risky, the bitterness of them both wanting another. Asahi wonders who’s got Shirabu’s heart these days, or if Shirabu’s just chasing after Asahi because he’s bored.

_ Paging Dr. Azumane to the children’s ward _ , says the tinny voice again, and Asahi gasps and breaks apart from Shirabu.

“Just...text me,” Asahi sighs. It was always a losing battle. “My number’s the same.”

He turns again and begins to move, and this time Shirabu doesn’t follow. “See you later, Asahi!” he calls, and Asahi ignores the looks of his puzzled coworkers as his face turns red.

(The text Shirabu sends him later isn’t an invitation to coffee, but to his bed. Asahi responds anyway.)


	18. "Do you want me to leave?" Ushijima/Kita, G

The autumn breeze has given way to biting winter winds, and Ushijima shivers against the cold. He’s never been a fan of the cold weather. For one, it doesn’t lend itself to playing volleyball.

He pulls his coat tighter around himself and tucks his nose under his scarf. It’s finely crafted, French in origin; it had been a gift from Tendou in his last package. He makes a note to thank him again for the useful tool, and for his thoughtfulness. 

He’s calculating hours in his head, trying to figure out when the best time to make a phone call to France is, when he runs headfirst into another figure.

“Sorry--” says the other, just as Ushijima looks up and says “I apologize--”

But both stop. A smile grows on Kita’s face.

“Hey, Ushijima-san. Watch where yer goin.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Ushijima says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Kita still smiles. Ushijima feels a little warmer.

“We can walk together, if ya want,” Kita says. “Since we’re goin’ the same way anyway.”

“Alright,” agrees Ushijima.

Among the strangest things to have happened to Ushijima since graduating high school is this: after being scouted to a V League team, settling in a new region, putting out an ad for a roommate, and having it answered by a former volleyball player, one who knew exactly who he was. 

(The first thing Kita had ever said to him was “Can’t believe ya let a little squirt like Hinata beat you.” Ushijima hadn’t found out until later that the little squirt had beaten him, too.)

Friendship had grown slowly. Kita’s quick to a joke, and Ushijima sometimes lags behind, but more often than not he’s finding that Kita will wait for him. Like he’s doing now.

Ushijima starts moving again. He tries to measure his steps so that he’s not outpacing Kita. “You are returning from classes?” 

Kita nods his affirmation. “How was practice?”

“It was as usual. I performed to the best of my abilities.”

Kita hums. Ushijima has always appreciated that Kita understands his way of speaking about volleyball. In that, at least, they’re on the same page.

“I’m havin’ a friend over this weekend,” Kita says. “Aran Ojiro. Do you know him?”

“I believe I have heard the name.”

“He’s still playin’, but he’s got the weekend off. Wanted to come up and spend some time.”

Ushijima considers Kita’s words and tries to understand the intricacies of social conversation. A thought occurs to him. “Do you want me to leave? I can stay in a hotel for the weekend, if you prefer privacy.”

Kita laughs. “It’s not like that. Anyway, think Aran wants to meet you. Famous Ushiwaka an’ all that.”

Ushijima nods slowly. He’s not sure what to answer. Kita elbows him.

“Take a lot more than a friend visitin’ for me to kick ya out, ya know.” He grins up at Ushijima. “Someone’s gotta take care of ya.”

Ushijima hadn’t considered that perhaps Kita was concerned about his well being. It brings warmth to his cheeks in an unexpected sort of way.

“Then I will stay,” Ushijima replies, and Kita keeps smiling.


	19. "We can't keep doing this" Ushijima/Sakusa, T

“We can’t keep doing this,” Sakusa sighs.

Ushijima opens his eyes. Sakusa shuts the bathroom door behind himself. His hair clings to his scalp like he hasn’t toweled it yet, but his towel is wrapped around his waist. 

“I do not understand,” Ushijima replies.

Sakusa crosses the hotel floor and crouches in front of the bag he’d brought. It contains a clean outfit; he doesn’t like to rewear anything that’s touched the floor. He slips the boxers on under the towel like he’s self-conscious about Ushijima seeing him. Like Ushijima hadn’t already seen all of him just a little while ago.

“Seeing each other like it’s some sort of dirty secret,” Sakusa clarifies. He lets the towel drop from his waist and catches it in one hand. He still doesn’t dry his hair. “Meeting in hotel rooms when our teams play each other.”

Ushijima narrows his eyes. “Would you prefer to meet in public?”

“Not for this,” Sakusa answers. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “I mean maybe we shouldn’t meet at all.”

Ushijima sits up. The blanket twists to reveal his bare calf. “Are you suggesting we break up?”

“There isn’t really anything to break up to begin with.” Sakusa’s eyes are on the floor.

Ushijima purses his lips. “We are engaging in relations on a semi-regular basis and you are suggesting we stop, so you are breaking up that relationship.”

Sakusa huffs. “Relationship is a strong word.”

“Is any union of two people not a relationship?”

Sakusa looks sharply in his direction. “You know what I mean.”

Ushijima swallows. Sakusa’s mouth sags downward. Ushijima has always found his lips to be one of his best features. He wants to reach a thumb up to trace the curve of them, even now. “I apologize, Kiyoomi,” he says. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

The intense emotion leaves Sakusa abruptly, and he hunches inward. 

“Do you not wish to have sex with me anymore?” Ushijima asks.

Sakusa shakes his head. “That’s not it.”

“Then please explain it to me. I will listen for as long as you need.”

Sakusa stands and comes around the bed. He slips back into bed and leans into Ushijima’s side; his wet hair leaves droplets running down Ushijima’s chest.

“I don’t want to be your dirty secret. That’s all.”

Ushijima inhales the scent of his shampoo. Gingerly he takes the towel from Sakusa’s fingers and rubs it over his head. Sakusa will shower again in the morning, so it doesn’t matter if it’s messy tonight. 

“You aren’t a dirty anything,” Ushijima says quietly as he works. “Satori knows about our relationship, as you know, and you have told me your Komori-san knows. I am willing to be as public or as private as you like if you wish to continue seeing each other.”

When Sakusa’s hair is damp instead of dripping, Ushijima sets the towel on the floor. Sakusa presses their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“I am not sure what you’re thanking me for,” Ushijima confesses. “But you are welcome.”

He indulges himself, now, ghosting his fingers across the lines of Sakusa’s lips. Under his touch, they curve upward slightly.

“We should go to dinner sometime,” Sakusa says. “In public.”

Ushijima nods. “I would enjoy that very much.”


	20. "Run away with me," Tetsuya/Jun

“I can’t take this anymore,” Jun shouts as he walks in, slamming the door behind himself. 

Tetsuya is ever unshaken. “I don’t know how much more the door can take, either.”

Jun glares at him, but when Tetsuya smiles, he melts. He’s crossing the room to flop on the couch beside Tetsuya before he can stop himself. Tetsuya uses long, steady fingers to comb through his hair.

“I’m sick and fucking tired of being treated like a child,” Jun grumbles. 

“I know,” Tetsuya replies. Jun knows Tetsu’s heard this a hundred times by now, but he listens patiently every time. Tetsuya is a better man that Jun could ever hope to be, and it will never cease to amaze Jun that someone like Tetsuya would make room in their life for him.

“I know you know,” Jun sighs. He’s calming quickly under Tetsuya’s touch. “Sorry about yelling. And slamming the door. Again.”

“I only fear you’ll do it in for good one of these days,” Tetsuya answers with amusement in his voice. “You know you’ll play soon enough. You have to persist. Keep showing them how incredible you are, and you’re bound to start eventually.”

“Can eventually be tomorrow?” Jun grumbles.

Tetsuya laughs. “Patience, love.”

“Not a strong suit of mine.”

“Hm.” Tetsuya leans down and kisses the back of Jun’s head. “But hard work is.”

Jun sighs. “Run away with me.”

Tetsuya laughs. “Again?”

“Yeah.” Jun flops over onto his back. “We’ll form our own team. You can do all the financials, yeah? I’ll find the players. Bet we could woo Chris over from the Mets.”

Tetsuya shakes his head. “You’re just tired of losing to him.”

“Maybe so.”

Tetsuya’s nose touches Jun’s. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

Jun laughs. “You are, too.”

“It’s what you love most about me.”

Jun reaches up and tugs him down for a kiss. “Thanks for talking me down, Tetsu,” he murmurs against his lips.

Tetsuya kisses him again. “You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he asks. “If you did want to run away again. I’d run away a hundred times with you. A thousand.”

Jun’s heart constricts in his chest. “I know.”

“Good.” Tetsuya kisses him once more before sitting back up. “Help me study for my exam, would you? I’ve got a stack of flashcards there, you can quiz me.”

Jun obliges happily. For Tetsuya, he’d do anything.


	21. your turn, ushijima/kita

“Yer turn.”

Wakatoshi sighs. “I do not have a list of questions of this nature memorized, as you seem to.”

Shinsuke laughs and lifts his head to look at Wakatoshi. “I don’t have anything memorized. I just wanna know this stuff about ya.”

Wakatoshi feels a blush come to his cheeks. He shuffles, and the blankets pooling around his legs reveal his bare calf. Shinsuke reaches down and recovers it before Wakatoshi can react.

“Thank you,” Wakatoshi mumbles.

Shinsuke kisses his cheek. “Yer welcome.”

Wakatoshi thinks. He’s learned, by now, that Shinsuke’s favorite color is green, that he loved Sailor Moon more than anything as a kid, that he comes from a long line of rice farmers and can’t imagine himself doing anything else. Shinsuke seems to have an endless supply of questions to ask, and Wakatoshi provides each answer he requests. But he himself can’t seem to think of anything to ask. It’s hard to think of anything besides the bright redness in Shinsuke’s cheeks, the warmth of his body against Wakatoshi’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under Wakatoshi’s fingertips. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to know Shinsuke the way Shinsuke wants to know him; he’s just never done this before, doesn’t know what questions are okay and which are too personal and which are downright rude. As in all things, Shinsuke has had to take him by the hand and lead him through the basic steps of being in a relationship. He counts himself lucky that Shinsuke is so patient.

A thought occurs to Wakatoshi. “If you could play a position other than wing spiker, which would you choose?”

Shinsuke’s quiet laughter fills the empty space between Wakatoshi’s ears. “Not everything is about volleyball, Wakatoshi.”

Wakatoshi frowns. “I apologize if I’ve offended--”

Shinsuke presses a firm finger against his lips. “Setter,” he says. “But I was never technically capable enough for it.”

When Shinsuke’s finger falls back to his lap, Wakatoshi huffs. “I do not believe that to be true.”

“I think yer biased.” Shinsuke pushes the hair from Wakatoshi’s forehead. “Same question.”

Wakatoshi considers this. “I do not wish to play any other position, but I suppose I would get by well enough as a middle blocker, considering my strengths.”

Shinsuke laughs again, and it causes heat to rise to Wakatoshi’s cheeks. “I’d like to think you’d make a mean libero.”

Wakatoshi’s brow furrows. “I do not think my defensive abilities are on par with that of a libero. I have always focused more on offensive technique--”

Shinsuke cuts him off with a mouth pressed against his. Wakatoshi can feel the curve of his lips, the smile that’s taking over Shinsuke’s face. He smiles so much, so naturally. It’s one of Wakatoshi’s favorite things about him.

“Yer ridiculous,” Shinsuke says, his mouth and face still close to Wakatoshi’s own. 

“You’ve said as much,” replies Wakatoshi. 

Shinsuke settles against him again and takes his hand. Their fingers lace together, and Shinsuke sets them down in Wakatoshi’s lap. His head fits into the curve of Wakatoshi’s chest. He sighs, and Wakatoshi recognizes the signs of contentment: his muscles are relaxed, his eyes are slightly closed. Wakatoshi leans in and presses his nose into Shinsuke’s hair.

“Your turn,” he murmurs.


	22. "i haven't told anyone, just like we promised"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [thanks hq rarepair bot](https://twitter.com/hqpairquotes/status/1318996294573182981?s=20)

The key clicks in the door, thankfully. Hajime was half-convinced that it had all been some sort of trick.

He steps into the room; his eyes shift up into the hallway behind him, double, triple checking that he’s not been seen by any wandering athletes, and when he’s satisfied, he shuts the door behind himself, quietly as he can. A pair of sneakers is already lined up neatly against the wall; Hajime, on the other hand, just toes his off before stepping into the room.

“Hello,” greets a deep voice.

Ushijima Wakatoshi sits almost precariously on the bed, his national team uniform still tight on his shoulders, a tension in the perfect alignment of his spine. Were Hajime working, he would compliment the posture, the effortless poise with which Wakatoshi always carries himself. But he’s not working, despite the matching logo on his polo. 

“Hey.”

There are approximately thirteen steps separating Hajime and Wakatoshi. Hajime counts and recounts each in his head, but he can’t convince his stubborn body to go along with it. Wakatoshi appears indifferent--except no, not indifferent. There’s a fondness in the slight upcurve of his lips. His eyes scan up and down Hajime’s body before settling on his face. Patient, Hajime amends. Wakatoshi appears patient.

“Bokuto’s your roommate, right?” Hajime says, and his legs finally give in to the magnetic pull tugging him toward the bed.

“He is,” Wakatoshi affirms with a nod. “He informed me he will be celebrating this evening with some old friends from his alma mater and staying the night with his husband.”

“That’s nice,” Hajime says for want of any other comment. Six or so more steps. “So you have the room to yourself tonight.”

Wakatoshi blinks. Hajime thinks, inexplicably, of the magazine cover with Wakatoshi’s face on it, the one where he’d been smiling as though someone had twisted his arm behind his back. When he had first seen it, he had selfishly thanked the amateur photographer for not capturing his real smile, the soft one that now graces his lips. This is the smile for which Hajime has fallen.

“I do not have the room to myself.” Three steps between them. “I will be sharing the room with you.”

Through Hajime’s mind flash the images of the day’s game--Argentinian blue versus Japanese red, the grin Tooru had tossed him across the court, the cordial handshaking before the game and the way Tooru had childishly stuck out his tongue behind Wakatoshi’s back. Tobio’s, too. Some things you simply don’t grow out of, like the crushing feeling of defeat at the end of five sets. Hajime hadn’t felt it today, but Tooru had.

(“Come drink with us,” Tooru had pleaded, and Hajime was tempted. He knew he should spend more time with his globetrotting best friend, and yet, and yet.

“Tomorrow night,” he’d promised, and the mask that Tooru almost never showed him slid back into place, only a crack of a bitter smile showing through.

“Hope they’re good plans, Iwa-chan.”)

One step. Hajime towers over Wakatoshi now. Wakatoshi tilts his chin upward to look at him, and that gaze, which could stop Hajime in his tracks from across a crowded gym floor, fixes intently upon him. Hajime lifts a hand to run his fingers through Wakatoshi’s hair; Wakatoshi’s eyes close with the gentle touch.

“You didn’t tell anyone?” Hajime murmurs.

“I did not,” Wakatoshi confirms. His eyes slowly open again. “Did you?”

“No.”

Hajime’s heart hammers in his chest. His hand slips downward, tracing the line of Wakatoshi’s jaw, and then his throat. At the collar of his jersey, Hajime pauses.

“I could take it off if you like,” Wakatoshi says quietly.

Hajime’s fingers curl in the fabric. “I can help with that.”


End file.
